Breathtaking-- Hazel eyes speak a deep soul and I drown like a marooned sailor gulping the baleful brine. To desire-- With such palpable need I fear as death cannot inspire that I am fixated like a rat to the snake-eyes of unshaken indifference. To love-- As one does without knowledge, the chest-aching specter of certainty that drives men to be fools --What would you have me do? Trust to fate and come to me, O
...Good point. That changes everything for me.:-p Dan
Dear Friends, I don't even really like the song that much. I was born in '86, you see, and by the time by musical tastes had formed the cowbell had long been out of style (whatever SNL says). But after hearing "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult a few times on the radio, the title line stuck in my head with that persistent resonation that certain phrases seem to c
born a wanderer by virtue of limbs were it not for lines and letters I would roam the map unhindered every creature is more bound than I oak by root and elk by mind and even birds keep their aerial paths culture is cutting lines cutting space, cutting self cutting the mental map to size by cell bound to people by social bound to country will enough numbers hold me still? I yearn for liberty-- freedom with
I have seen many strange things in Florida, but the homeless people are perhaps the strangest. They are the ones who would have frozen on the streets of Detroit, huddled under some bridge with the sooty remnants of a failed fire dusting a threadbare coat with ash; but here in Florida, where the coldest nights demand little more than a good sleeping bag and a little patience, there exists a curious strain of homeless that strains the definition of
Was America's original ideal of isolationism preferable?
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